


Knots

by ladywiltshire



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003), Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Blood Kink, F/F, M/M, Mild Kink, Rope Bondage, i may or may not have a problem, surprise you're a fucking chimera
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-23
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-03-23 03:23:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13778622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladywiltshire/pseuds/ladywiltshire
Summary: As a Devil's Nest employee, you're no stranger to the questionable activities your boss partakes in with coworkers and patrons alike. In a turn of events that could potentially be disastrous or fortuitous, you find yourself alone in the bar with Greed one particular evening.





	Knots

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick disclaimer: Due to the fact that this was originally conceived via text messages, the tense and dialogue is not traditionally written. Hopefully it still remains readable.

Why, if you were THAT curious, all you had to do was ask, doll face.

Greed approaches, holding a glass of whiskey. You can smell that on him but there's also something else-- your animal instincts are screaming at you but your undying adoration has a feeling something good might happen. Maybe. It's enough to keep you from telling him goodnight.

He asks you if you ever learned how to tie knots. Maybe in school? Humans learn practical skills, right? You say of course not. That's just silly. He tuts, setting his glass down and toying with some of the leftover rope lying on the table... how impractical... it's such a useful skill.

He takes a seat next to you, asking if you would mind? Of course not. He toys with the rope in his fingers, talking to you about all the different things they could have taught you. Jute holds differently than hemp. Both have their pros and cons. He used to use nylon, but that can become weaker when, well, when it's wet...

He asks if you would care for a demonstration, as he gives your wrist a kiss. You know that he only wants to check your pulse, making sure you're as into it as he sensed you were...

Greed smiles, noticeably breathing you in. He tells you this one is hemp, which he ultimately prefers. There's silence as he wraps it around your wrist, and almost seems disappointed that you don't ask him right away. 

Well, don't you want to know why, beautiful?

He wraps it around your other wrist, meanwhile you can feel your pulse pounding against the rope, pushing into your skull, sending you into high alert, but you're frozen. He seems to know it's because you can't stop staring at him, watching the way his lips shape his words, the way his teeth cut his voice in a way that sticks to your skin.

Your rapture proves to be your downfall as he curls his index finger over the neat little square knot between your wrists, pulling you towards him. You extend your arms but of course that's no use. He takes an obnoxious whiff of you-- he loves the smell of your sweat.

He says, of course, it's that hemp lasts the longest-- you can pull all you like, but it won't do you any good, babe. At this point you can feel him forming the words, his lips are so pressed into the taught skin on your neck. You shudder and you can just feel his eyes closing in satisfaction.

He says that it works really well with your type-- chimeras, that is. Your type likes to struggle, but he understands. Keep in mind, he's peppering you with soft kisses at this point, and you hate the fact that you lean your head back to receive them, but God, his breath hot on your neck is what you knew you had stuck around for.

He continues on, and you're hanging on his narrative like your life depends on it. As he finally, languidly brushes his teeth against you, he says that it's mostly the fact that hemp doesn't wear like nylon when it's soaked... with... whatever might dampen it.

Suddenly, a wave of adrenaline crashes over you when you realize the hands gripping your wrists have gone cold. He mentions, while you swear his growl echoes into your bones, that no matter how strong any rope is, it's no difference to him. It's his shield you feel against your veins, hot from pumping blood.

It seems he can't resist, smelling that adrenaline on you is sexier than any outfit, any perfume, than any other way you could possibly present yourself to him. As he tenderly breaks the skin just enough to taste a trickle, and your eyes roll back as his tongue laps over the finely split flesh, the rope snaps under one of his claws like it were as brittle as dried wheat or cold glass.

His chuckle rumbles into you as you slump, revealing how much you've weakened under his touch. He takes one more breath of your scent, good and worked up himself. As he pulls back, he daintily wipes a drop of your blood from the corner of his mouth. You can feel the sting of it above your pounding heart, against the cold air of the empty bar.

Anyway, he manages to say, perhaps a little more breathily, a little more hastily than intended -- if you're ever genuinely curious, you know he has an open door policy. He can't abide low morale, after all. He stands up, tilting your jaw up to look at him, asking if you understand. 

Finally, your voice chokes out acknowledgement, although as he smiles and walks away coolly, leaving you slumped on his filthy couch, you still aren't sure how you managed to form words.


End file.
